My Hero-Personal Narrative

They said it was just. All I could remember were the high pitched screams of the people we were “helping”, and the bitterness of losing Scott. Didn’t even know how they died. One minute he was there, then he was gone.

It started with a 411. I was a blue-head, people snickered and taunted me. I wasn’t strong, smart. I joined ‘cause mother needed treatment money for cancer. Father was dead. Car crash in the 70’s while I was the tender age of 8. A great man, father was, probably better than I am, better than I’ll ever be.

Scott protected me. At first, I didn’t know why. Then I realized he was my friend who was enrolled, taken away from me. Never believed I would see him again. Cried for days, then forgot. Pushed the feeling away, numbed myself. I needed support mother and I. Couldn’t mope about. Not to mention I didn’t want to think of him anymore.

I was there for about a year.

The 411 was boring, although my nerves were tingling, as this was my first mission. In spite of that, I had no choice but to “HANG ON TO EVERY WORD SOLDIER”. I could still remember the sharp barking of the lieutenant, and the sinking feeling I had as I heard that Scott and I were separated. Different squads, even different platoons. I was part of the three rifle squads in my platoon. Scott was in a different platoon, one that was part of the military police.

“Don’t worry Brad, it’ll be over before we know it,” he reassured me. Lasting words he said to me, those were. I’m sure it was over before he knew it. “Killed in action,” they told me. I knew he would be, he wasn’t an easy to take down guy. Troublesome to surprise, not like I’ve tried it before. One of the

best.
Never certainly registered he was dead. Thought, he’ll be back, he came back when I joined. But now it’s been months. I’m sent home after the “Congratulations!” and the “Good work!” I know he’s not coming back. When I saw the newspaper I was sure.
When I was back, mother was dead. Nowhere to go, nowhere to call home. I had a medal, I had money. But I had no family. Didn’t even know where my sweet kitten Pepper went. Probably gone too. Little Pepper. With her always messy, ruffled orange fur. No tail, just a stub. The sweetest cat. Didn’t look so, but oh she could prove it to you before you even picked her up, before you even touched her.
When mother died, the house was empty. I haven’t been back there for months. Probably an empty shell of what it was. Mother never changed anything. Don’t know why she would now.
Pepper probably died of starvation. Oh, poor, poor, Pepper. My heart ached just thinking of her. Not my mother, though. Never my mother. Except when I was young.
When the “head” died, she converted into a shadow of her former self, lost. Couldn’t earn a job. I had no siblings old enough to support us. We lived on money we were receiving from father and his death. Wasn’t enough. I was forced to work. Earned minimum wage. Worked hard all day and part of the night.
Then she was diagnosed with cancer. I felt hopeless. No job I could land would be able to pay for her. “Too much of a ditz to catch an office job,” I heard them whispering and snickering. Couldn’t play sports, wasn’t strong enough. Then someone told me, didn’t know who, “Join the army. Only way a dweeb like you could treat your mother.” At least that’s what I heard.
So I joined. And here I was. On the streets. Walking to my house. I laughed. Probably looked wiggity-wack.
With this in mind, I walked down the road. The fresh morning breeze twirled and ruffled my hair, sending a chill down my spine. Definitely better than that stuffy rickety bus I rode back on. The sun beat down, and I knew in my heart that in any other circumstance, I would be jubilant. But today, I made a somber atmosphere myself. Didn’t need anything else too.
I could smell the rain on the wind, but it wasn’t coming, oh, no I knew that. It had already come. There were only inconsiderable signs of it, but I could tell. The ground was dry, but you could detect the grass was overly green, too much green to be the norm of dry, dusty, cracked Texas. This only happened after it rained.
There was the paper on the ground. Not only that, but it was damp. I was going to overpass it, but something caught my eye, and I paused, my heart in my throat.
It was Scott.
His picture stood out on the blotched ink of the newspaper. I dropped down to a crouch, and inspected it.
It was slightly wrinkled, but if I strained, I would be able to read them. All the words. My eyes filled with tears. The lump in my throat turned into a boulder.
“PROVEN IN BATTLE,” it said in , bold letters. “Soldiers receive hero’s welcome.”
The page was more than damp now. I could taste a saltiness in my mouth. My body shook, and I sat down on the street. Imagine a grown man wearing a soldier’s clothes, sitting down in the middle of the street, crying on a newspaper, with a cat on his lap. That’s what was happening now.
People called us heroes. I assumed we were going to be shunned. That’s what I would have done. Shunned us. Because justice is not killing people. Not killing innocent people. But we saved them! One side said. But we still killed! Said the other. I pushed them both away. That’s what I felt.
Guilt. In other words, guilt at following instructions. At trying to ignore the screams, the pain, the loss, and pushing all of them away.
I stroked the cat. Wait. Cat. Pepper! I looked down and found a purring cat with ruffled ginger fur, just like Pepper. My heart skipped a beat. I moved my arm, and I gave a yelp.
The cat had no tail. It was Pepper. I didn’t even notice the skinny cat crawling into my lap while sobbing, but I could feel it. The familiar fur, the familiar purr, and the amber eyes. The amber eyes that could calm me and that burst with curiosity and care. That’s right. I still had Pepper.
Right then and there, I realized I shouldn’t mope about. Pepper had nothing, no family, no food, no medal, no money. In fact, she was just about to be put down before I adopted her. They described her as mean, annoyed easily, hostile, no tail because she fought a great deal, mustard yellow eyes, and dirty sandy fur. They were completely wrong. If anyone knew how she actually was, I wouldn’t have her right now.
And here she was. She found me. In fact, I don’t believe I chose her out of all the other cats, I believe she chose me out of all the other humans. And at this point I laughed again and picked her up like I always did. Her deep, thrumming purrs racked through me and warmth spread through me, her warmth. She was skinnier than usual, but she was still alive. Resting her head on my neck, we made our way back home.
Home was strange. Empty. No one there to greet me. But I knew it was filled with life, filled with a variety of different emotions. In fact, emotions were what kept the family alive. Without it, we would be broken and empty. Like the house I was standing in.
Right then and there, I swore to myself I would bring this house back to life, I would. “No more walking around aimlessly, no more standing around feeling sorry for myself,” I commanded. Right now, I had a purpose. That purpose will be fulfilled. I whispered a silent thanks to Pepper, and she looked at me like she understood. Looked at me with those eyes filled with wisdom.
Letting her jump out of my arms, I sped to the curb where the newspaper was sitting. I found it lying right where I left it, and brought it back to the house. Then, I found a random framed pictured, took out the picture, and framed the newspaper. Moments later, it was hanging on a bare patch of wall.
The rest of the days passed in a blur. Just ‘cause I didn’t like my experiences, doesn’t mean I couldn’t accept them, my brain reasoned with my heart, slowly breathing life into the rest of me. So one day, I finally decided I could accept life, and I pulled out a pencil and paper. I took a deep breath and started writing.
They said it was just. All I could remember were the high pitched screams of the people we were helping, the bitterness of losing Scott. Didn’t even know how he died. One minute he was there, then he was...